Buckler roared back at the Shrew Chieftain, "No! No! Don't fire at them. They'll kill our young uns. Don't do anything!"
Reluctantly, Jango gave his archers orders to stand
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down. Everybeast flocked about the young hare. Dymphnia Witherspyk and her daughter Trajidia supported him to the Abbey building where Sister Fumbril took over.
"Bring him to the Infirmary. Those vermin arrows may be tipped with poison--hurry now!"
Trajidia looked aghast. "Poison! Oh, the foul fiends, and you were so brave out there, Mister Buckler, so valorous! Facing all those foebeast single-pawed. Alas, only to be fatally pierced by poison weapons!"
A swift kick in the tail from her grandmother caused her to yelp indignantly. Crumfiss pushed her onward.
"Don't let him go, missy. Keep tight hold or he'll fall. An' ye can stop all the drama. Save yore moanin' and wai-lin' for the proper time!"
Skipper watched the ladies escorting Buckler upstairs, commenting to Oakheart, "Ye won't get near Buck, not with that lot. He's in more danger of bein' nursed, cared for an' fed t'death than he is from bein' slayed by vermin. See!"
Drull Hogwife and the Abbess hurried by, bearing a tray of food and drink as they followed the others.
Diggs sat down on the bottom stair, chunnering. "Huh, I should've gone with old Buck. Blinkin' chap could starve t'death round here if he's not been jolly well wounded, wot!"
Jango turned to Granvy. "Bad luck, losin' yore vermin prisoner like that. Ye won't get no more out o' him."
Granvy looked over the top of his rock-crystal glasses, nodding sagely. "Oh, really, d'ye think so? Well, let me tell you, my friend, I learned enough from Gripchun to put a few things together myself. You don't get to be a Recorder of Redwall by letting your brain go idle."
The others were immediately intrigued by this statement.
Skipper thumped his rudder excitedly "Things? Wot sort o' things, matey?"
Oakheart whispered confidentially, "No secrets here, sirrah--you can tell us."
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The old scribe chuckled. "Later, perhaps, when Buckler gets back from the clutches of Sister Fumbril. I'm afraid I don't know everything yet, so I may need a bit of help and some quick-witted ideas."
Diggs brightened up slightly. "Chap t'help with quickwitted ideas, d'ye say? Hah, you're lookin' at the very fellow, old lad. My quick-wittedness is legendary at Salamandastron, wot wot!"
Jango chuckled. "I'll wager it is--tryin' to work out how t'get more vittles than the rest, figurin' how ye can pinch pies from the cookhouse an' so on."
Diggs wrinkled his ears at the shrew. "Steady on, there-- that's a jolly hurtful thing t'say about a chap, y'know. Still, I wish I knew where I could pinch a bloomin' pie or two right now. Most unusual for me, but I do feel a bit bloomin' peckish."
Granvy smiled. "Right, then, shall we say after supper let's all meet in the gatehouse?"
Diggs nodded. "Supper, a capital idea!"
Abbess Marjoram pushed the tray of untouched food toward Buckler as Sister Fumbril tended to his wounds. He hardly glanced at it.
She chided him jokingly, "Tuck in, young sir. Even warriors have to eat, you know."
Buckler did not even flinch as Fumbril washed his neck wound with hot water and herbal cleanser. He sat on a sickbay bed, gazing bleakly at the wall.
Dymphnia Witherspyk looked up at him as she began bathing his footpaw. His dark mood was plain to see. "Don't take it to heart so much, Buck. You did all you could have done. 'Twas very brave of you."
There was a bitter edge to the young hare's voice. "Did all I could've done? Huh, I had to run away like a frightened babe. Very brave, I'm sure!"
Log a Log's wife, Furm, passed him a bowl of hot summer
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vegetable soup, commenting, "Oh, I see, you'd 'ave much sooner stood yore ground and gotten shot full of arrows. That would've made ye feel better, eh?"
Buckler's eyes, still hot with seething anger, swept the ladies. "That Zwilt ... that piece of filth! He was wearing my dead brother's medallion--aye, an' wielding his sword, too. That tiny leveret, the one they had in a sack, I've never set eyes on it before, but I'll take my oath that the babe's my nephew. Where else would they get a little hare around here?"
Trajidia clasped her paws, declaiming dramatically, "Oh, the agonies you must have suffered, sirrah, standing there helpless in front of your tormentors!"
Catching her mother's icy glance, she trailed off into silence. Sister Fumbril bound a neat light dressing of sanicle and dockleaf to Buckler's footpaw.
"There, you're as good as new, matey. How d'ye feel?"
Buckler touched his neck, which was smeared with a healing unguent. He stood up, testing his weight upon the paw. "Better, thanks. I don't have to stay here, do I?"
Abbess Marjoram moved the tray out of his way. "Not if you don't want to. Could I tempt you to take a little food before you leave?"
She spoke as Diggs entered the room. The tubby Subaltern beamed, thinking the remark was addressed to him. "You certainly can, Mother Abbess, marm!"
Plonking himself on the bed, he pulled the tray to him. "What ho, Buck, you look jolly chipper. Still, I was just sayin' to old Log a Thing, takes more'n a couple of mis'rable vermin arrows t'stop a Salamandastron chap, wot!" He swigged off the soup and wiped his lips. When he looked up, his companion had gone.
"Well, now, didn't stop to chat, did he? My word, what'n the name o' fur'n'feathers ails him?"
Furm shook her head. "Huh, warriors. No tellin' wot goes on in their minds. I should know, I'm married to one!"
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Diggs bit into a plum turnover. "Say no more, dear lady. Know exactly what y'mean. Us warriors are a jolly odd lot, wot, wot!"
Supper was a very subdued affair. Everybeast was mulling over what had taken place that day. Most Redwallers were feeling apprehensive following the appearance of a vermin horde at their very gates. They ate in silence, keeping their feelings to themselves.
Skipper finished eating quickly, then nodded to Buckler. "D'ye fancy a stroll over t' the gatehouse with some of us? Ole Granvy reckons he's onto somethin' that might help with our problem."
Buckler had hardly touched food; he stood promptly. "Lead on, Skip. Anythin's better than sittin' round wondering what t'do next."
The Abbey Recorder looked about at the assembly in the little cottage. Skipper, Buckler, Diggs, Jango, Oakheart and the Abbess. He tapped his quill pen on a stack of yellowed scrolls, obviously ancient writings. "Listen now, friends, I've been trying to piece together a few things which might reveal the location of where the Dibbuns are being kept."
Oakheart scratched his headspikes. "Aye, sir, but will it do any good? You may be bringing disaster on our young uns heads. D'ye recall what that scoundrel Zwilt said? If we try to follow them, or find the babes, then they'll harm our little ones."
The sound of Jango's teeth grinding together was clear-- the Guosim Chieftain practically spat out his words. "So wot d'we do, eh? Sit about twiddlin' our paws, an' let those scum have all their own way? Never trust wot a vermin says, Oakie."
Skipper's rudder thwacked the floor. "Aye, yore right there, matey. We should be doin' all we can to free the little uns, an' quick about it, too!"
Buckler had hardly spoken thus far, but now he came
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to the fore, firm and decisive. "Are we all agreed, then-action must be taken?" They called out as one, "Aye!"
The Blademaster nodded. "Good! So, then, Mister Granvy, what've ye got to tell us?"
The Recorder adjusted the little spectacles on his snout. "Right. First things first: I don't think that the Dibbuns are being held more than a day's march from here. Why should the vermin keep them any great distance away? It doesn't make sense. Agreed?"
Abbess Marjoram nodded. "Agreed, that's my feelings. Also he said that they would return to our Abbey before too long, so they can't be far away."